


Let the Moon Be Our Judge

by Furuba_Fangirl



Series: The Nice and Accurate Fanfic Gallery [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1920s, Banter, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Thoughts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Just a smidge tho, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sharing Clothes, Smoking, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Whiteley Foster's Jazz Baby DTIYS (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furuba_Fangirl/pseuds/Furuba_Fangirl
Summary: In 1923, a demon and an angel find each other on the rooftop of a party. They soon find out that it’s easy to forget yourself when you feel on top of the world.My contribution to Whiteley Foster’s DTIYS!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Nice and Accurate Fanfic Gallery [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997725
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Let the Moon Be Our Judge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).



> I love the Roaring 20s and Good Omens so this DTIYS was right up my alley :D Thank you Whiteley Foster for making Jazz Baby and bringing my two favorite worlds together!

“Is that a cigarette I see, Mr. Fell? I have to say, I am very disappointed in you,” Crowley teases as he pokes his head over the ridge of the roof.

Aziraphale gracefully blows out a puff of white, the glint of the moonlight catching on his smile. “Oh, hush. There’s nothing wrong with indulging in a little tobacco once in a while. Unfortunately, humans are more sensitive to forming bad habits so I don’t want them following my lead.”

Crowley snorts at his justification, leaning his elbows on the shingles. “Ah, well, what kind of demon would I be if I leave you alone with your vices?”

He tilts his head at the demon. “Are you sure, dear? I don’t want to keep you from the festivity.”

“Don’t worry about me, angel. I had been aiming to slink away anyway. Some corn-shredder had been eyeing my gams all night so I figured I’d join you before he had the gall to approach me.”

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand to help hoist him up since his heels appeared precariously balanced on the eave. “Hmph, I do believe when we get back inside he’ll be finding his shoelaces tied together.”

The demon giggles as he straddles the rooftop. “Thanks for defending my honor. ‘Sides my gams are solely for tempting hedonistic angels,” he says with an eyebrow waggle.

The angel chokes on smoke and laughter. “Crowley, honestly, the fiendish things you say,” he admonishes with a cough. Once he catches his breath again, he grins coyly. “Although, I must admit... you look as lovely as ever, my dear.” Truthfully, if it weren’t for the fact that he was feeling a little claustrophobic inside, Aziraphale could have watched Crowley dance all night. The sparkle of sequences decorating his dress and the soft rattle of his pearls as he gracefully swished to the tune of trumpets and saxophones were absolutely mesmerizing. Still, this was nice too. His angular features more prominent and his perfectly coiffed hair an uncut ruby in the lowlight.

Crowley’s cheeks threaten to flush at the compliment but he quickly plays it off. “You got loose lips on you tonight, angel. Y’ sure tobacco is the only thing you’ve been smoking there.” He briskly curls his fingers toward the cigarette. “I’m going to have to do an inspection.”

Aziraphale lightheartedly rolls his eyes at him but passes it over nonetheless; their fingertips grazing in the process. He watches on in contentment as the demon brings the cigarette up to his sinuous lips and takes in a languid breath.

Much like eating, smoking was a recreation Crowley rarely partook in, reserved only for occasionally setting a bad example or for passing the time with good company. So, as his lungs start to fill he has to suppress the tickle in his throat. However, the initial sting is soon followed by a pleasant warmth and the demon smoothly blows a wispy trail that transforms into the shape of a dragon. The mist playfully flutters around Aziraphale’s head blowing a tiny cloud of its own into his face until it evaporates into the crisp, spring air. “Yep, it’s clean,” he concludes, taking one last drag before handing it back to the amused angel.

Upon closer inspection, Aziraphale notes peach lipstick staining the white paper and he is overtaken by a strange feeling of intimacy. The idea of having a faint taste of Crowley stirring something in him which he quickly smothers down. His eyes close in an effort to ignore the imprint as he wraps his mouth around the roll and inhales shakily, lips tingling slightly.

Meanwhile, Crowley gazes at Aziraphale reclining against the rust-colored chimney, entranced by the way his white tuxedo and platinum curls make him glow under the moon’s watchful eye. Truthfully, he could watch Aziraphale luxuriating in small earthly pleasures for all eternity if he was given the chance… For now, however, he’ll make do with the time it takes the angel to finish up his cigarette.

When he’s finally down to the stub, Aziraphale is soothed enough to open his eyes again to find golden orbs accentuated with eyeliner staring back at him like a patient cat. A fond smile forms on Aziraphale’s lips as he hums, “Thank you for keeping me company, Crowley.” He lifts his head up to look at the sky. “It’s a beautiful night to share.”

The demon nods in agreement. “Yeah, but I do miss them… The stars I mean. There isn’t as many as there used to be.”

“Hmm, yes, I have noticed that too. Something to do with all the city lights I think.”

Crowley pauses a moment before saying, “I want to go back to space…”

Aziraphale stares at Crowley in bewilderment. “What?”

“I don’t mean now but one day...” His wistful expression fixated on the dark expanse beyond the scattered clouds. 

“Won’t Hell notice you’re gone?” he asks worriedly.

“Nah, my plan is to leave a broomstick with red yarn and shades in my place. They won’t even tell the difference,” he quips which causes Aziraphale to giggle. Crowley’s eyes flick down as he fiddles with a tassel on his dress. “I could take you with me if you wanted... Could be like going on holiday y’ know.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen and he fretfully stammers, “O-oh, um, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible. I... I wish I could, my dear, but Heaven wouldn’t be so keen on turning a blind eye if I went missing.”

Crowley’s heart sinks at his response but doesn’t know what else he was expecting. He turns his head away and nods solemnly. “No, yeah... I get it,” he murmurs, folding his arms together to self-consciously rub his biceps.

“…Is something wrong dear?”

“S’ nothing. M’ just cold,” he sniffs. After a moment of silence, Crowley hears the shuffle of fabric and realizes Aziraphale is removing his jacket, leaving him clad in his dress shirt and tartan suspenders. The demon feels a lump in his throat as the angel offers him the garment with pale, apologetic eyes... both of them knowing it’s the only real comfort he can give.

Crowley takes it with a silent thanks before shrugging on the oversized jacket infused with ethereal warmth. The scent of cedar and parchment making his head spin and chest ache.

“Maybe… you can describe what it is like up there to me,” Aziraphale tries.

Crowley smiles a little bitter-sweetly. “Alright, angel…” He clears his throat and dramatically starts, “In the beginning, there was only darkness.”

“I think I’m familiar with that part,” he points out jokingly.

“Are you going to let me tell the story or not?” he huffs. Aziraphale chuckles as he holds his hands up defensively and allows the demon to proceed. “So when I say darkness, I mean _darkness._ Like _nada_ as far as the eyes could see or I guess not see. Ugh, it was so boooring. A lot like Heaven but with more potential for change,” he jabs with a smirk which earns a disapproving pout. “But it was also terrifying. Felt like you could get lost in all that nothing. Then just like that, _boom_ , we had all these new elements to play with. Soon all that empty was filled with swirling colors and burning gases and… I helped make some of that.”

Aziraphale listens with affection as Crowley gets lost in those fond memories. So much so, that neither notice when the music comes to a halt nor when the rowdy hollering mutes to the leisure chatter between a few stragglers unfit to go home. The angel only comes to his senses when he realizes that in the midst of their conversation, they had gravitated toward each other; their knees bumping together.

“Oh my, it seems we have lost track of time,” he says getting a little flustered. “We should probably get going—”

Aziraphale’s breath hitches as Crowley covers the hand resting on his knee. They’re so close he can see the demon’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “Stay…” Crowley says, barely above a whisper. “Just until morning and then we can go back…” _We can go back to pretending._ He shrugs a little trying to bring back their causality. “It has been a few millennia since we caught a sunrise together.”

The angel titters nervously, “I suppose you’re right. I think the last time was after the Great Flood.”

“Mhm, you wanted to see the first rainbow,” Crowley reminds. Although Aziraphale would never admit it, Crowley knew he was too distraught to fully enjoy it that time. Regardless, he was happy that they got to share that moment together. “Now, scooch,” he instructs, gesturing for the angel to back up a little.

“Crowley, what are you…” Before he can finish asking, the demon is adjusting himself so that he is sat facing away between Aziraphale’s legs.

“As much as I’d like to keep staring at your cherubic mug, I can’t have you have a better view than me,” he explains as he glances back with a hint of mischief.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he agrees bashfully. Aziraphale twiddles his fingers, deliberating his next move. “You… can lean on me if you’d like to be more comfortable.”

It is Crowley’s turn to be embarrassed. “ _Ngk_ , are you sure, angel?” Aziraphale nods his head, both of their cheeks hued pink. “Alright…” he accepts, carefully tilting back. The moment his spine meets angelic softness, Crowley lets out a tiny sigh as he relaxes into Aziraphale. He rests his hands on his own heaving stomach and stretches his legs to cross his ankles together. “Is… is this okay?” he asks cautiously as to not spook him.

“It’s… perfect— er, perfectly fine,” Aziraphale answers breathlessly; his hands in light fists on his thighs, not trusting them to do anything else.

“Okay…”

They stay like that for a while, neither daring to move or talk as if that might break the fragile illusion that they managed to create like finely blown glass. It’s only when the demon shifts slightly that Aziraphale notices that his jacket had sloughed off one of Crowley’s shoulders, revealing a small galaxy of beige freckles. He can’t even hold back his breath anymore and it makes Crowley shudder involuntarily. “Sorry, dear… let me just...” Aziraphale lifts a hand to fix the sleeve but pauses on the seam where cloth meets bare skin; his thumb gently grazing along the tantalizing strip. Without even knowing it, he’s leaning forward until lips softly lay on speckled flesh.

Crowley’s eyes flutter close as he gasps, a hand automatically reaching for Aziraphale’s until it loosens enough to thread their fingers together. “Aziraphale…” he keens, head falling to the side; welcoming him to explore the expanse of his neck. However, the angel remains unmoving.

Aziraphale knows himself… He knows once he finds something he likes, he has a tendency to overindulge. Unfortunately, a certain demon is not an exception to his proclivities. Just like food or alcohol or books, he always wants more of Crowley… More dances, more shared meals… more time together in general. Which is why he _knows_ he is treading a dangerous line.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to kiss each star that decorates Crowley’s ash scented skin but… he knows he wouldn’t be satisfied by that alone. He’d lick and nip and suck every part he could reach. His hands wouldn’t be able to remain still either. They’d roam over the demon’s slim torso, feeling the sharp edges of ribs and the hollows of collar bones. They’d seek out the toned muscles of arms and legs, skidding along until they reached the hemline of his dress. If he was allowed… if Crowley was begging and moaning for it, Aziraphale wouldn’t resist hiking up the fabric to attend to whichever Effort the demon preferred to manifest.

The thoughts become too overwhelming and Aziraphale abruptly pulls away with a staggered exhalation.

The demon’s eyes snap open when he senses the angel smoothing his jacket over his shoulder again; the skin there practically burning with want underneath. He turns his head to meet Aziraphale’s guilty face. “Angel?”

“Crowley, I’m… I’m—”

“Don’t,” Crowley shushes, no harshness in his voice. “You don’t have to say anything to me.” He nudges his forehead against the angel’s. “I’ll be okay with just this…,” he whispers, eyes longing but sincere.

Aziraphale doesn’t say anything and simply squeezes Crowley’s hand reassuringly as they breathe in each other’s unspoken words.

Crowley wishes he could hit pause on the world. Wishes he could leave Aziraphale and himself suspended in their own little bubble where nobody from either side could bother them. A place where they could just be themselves… But he knows that’s not what Aziraphale wants, at least… not right now anyway.

So, reluctantly, he lets time trickle away; the moon dipping behind them and the dark sapphire sky beginning to fade. They peer out as a gradient of salmon pans above the rows of quaint buildings. Both of them washed in dawn and melancholy as the sun reveals its radiant face. Neither able to hide from their reality now.

Aziraphale rests his chin on the crook of Crowley’s neck, and carefully wraps his free arm around his waist to allow them a final embrace. “I think our time here is up, dear…”

Crowley sighs dismally, but ultimately he nods. “Yeah… it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I totally subscribe to the idea that Crowley kept up with all the 1920s lingo so I had to include it in this fic. FYI corn-shredder means a man who stepped on their dance partner’s feet.


End file.
